


Second Chances (This time for real)

by tsundanire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I SWEAR I FIXED IT, M/M, MCD with a happy ending, Magical Accidents, Sort Of, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: When Harry returns to Hogwarts for the summer, to help with extensive repairs, he finds a bit more than he initially bargained for.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 102
Collections: A Bouquet for a Bird





	Second Chances (This time for real)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the wonderful Kristina, who is always ready to lend an eye to read something over for everyone. This was meant to be a drabble, but as you can see, it rather exploded. I hope you enjoy, and I hope your birthday is wonderful!! Big thanks to @alwaysparis for the incredibly quick turn around (and beyond helpful) on the beta work. Your insight was absolutely appreciated!

The castle’s gates lay in ruins behind them, as did the trail of rubble left over from various blasts. The war had taken its toll on the ancient grounds, but both past and present students came together to do their part. Hermione had taken the lead, organising groups by skill level, year, energy, and taking care to rotate them in and out so that no one over-exerted themselves along the way. 

“Harry… Mate, you have to go home at some point.” Ron tried pleading gently with the former Gryffindor. But Harry shook his head, wand in motion, and all his energy focused on lifting stones and reparo-ing the piles of dust and crumbled rock on the ground. 

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Harry’s voice was filled with the kind of angst that is made up of a thousand and one losses. 

“I just worry about you, Harry. We all do. You’ve already done so much for the wizarding world… For the whole world.” Ron continued, his voice softening as he brought his wand up to aid Harry. 

“Doing this? It helps. Honestly, Ron. I just, I can’t sit at home knowing there’s other things I can be doing with my time. Hogwarts needs my help. More than trying to play the part of the Minister's pet.” It wasn’t like Kingsley was attempting to do as much, but it was clear that Harry’s pristine image as Wizarding “Saviour” was something many higher ups in the Ministry were trying to take advantage of. Better press, better image for the people looking to them to clean up the mess they’d created. 

On his right side, Harry flicked a glance to where Draco Malfoy was working. Unlike Harry, it seemed the task at hand was taking a lot out of him physically. He still had Draco’s wand, which meant the former Slytherin had to be using something new. All in all, he appeared exhausted and overdrawn. 

“Something’s up with Malfoy.” Harry started, but Ron raised his hands in the air, apparently completely done with his best mate. 

“For Merlin’s sake Harry, just ask the bloke out already. Or something, because I can’t keep doing this.” Ron practically shouted in exasperation, bringing eyes and further attention their way. Harry looked about in a panic, red blooming across his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“Could you try a bit more subtly there Ron?”

“Pft. What do _you_ know about subtlety?”

“Seriously, I don’t have a thing for him. I just think he looks off. I’m going to ask Hermione to see about sending him home. He’s been here as often and as long as I have.”

“Why don’t you just tell him yourself?”

“Because…” Harry struggled for a moment, trying to find the words. Ron beat him to it. 

“OI! Malfoy! Harry wants to talk to you!” Ron shouted, before turning back around and wiggling his brows at Harry. “Good luck.” He whispered before turning to walk away

“No! Wait! Come back you as-Oh Hi erm…” Harry spluttered, completely flustered between Ron’s departure and Draco’s arrival. 

Now that they were a mere few steps apart, Harry could see the weariness in all its fine detail. The dark circles under his eyes were so stark, contrasting to the pale skin gone sallow from lack of rest. Even the former sparkle in Draco’s eyes had dulled to a plain grey. Lines marred the otherwise clear skin of his face, making him appear far older than Harry knew him to be. It wasn’t a genetic thing, because neither Lucius nor Narcissa had shown any signs of age until they were playing house with Voldemort. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Gone were the snap and ice with which Draco had spoken in his youth. Instead, the fatigue was reinforced in the slow, practically monotone way he spoke. 

“I was thinking of grabbing tea. I thought you could probably use some too?” Harry fumbled over words he hadn’t planned on saying. But now that they were out, he stood tall and offered his hand. What Draco was doing—being at Hogwarts, atoning for the crimes of his Father and most likely the guilt he felt for his own part—was far braver an act than any of them had expected. Most assumed he would have hidden himself away until the world forgot his name.

“Why?” 

It was a million questions packed into one word. 

“I respect your courage.” Harry replied simply. It didn’t answer every question, but they hadn’t reached a place where they could delve into deeper topics yet. The idea that perhaps eventually they might? It was new, intriguing, and filled him with a strange tickling feeling in his belly. 

“Fine. Your treat.” Draco murmured, stowing his wand away for the moment. 

“What?” Harry laughed, taken aback. Not that he had a problem with it, since he could more than certainly afford it. 

“The Ministry has a hold on my funds.” 

“Oh.” Harry said simply. 

“I don’t want your pity. If that’s how you’re going to react, you can forget going for a cuppa.” Draco snarked. Harry couldn’t help the smile creeping up on his face. So, the real Draco was still there under all those layers of exhaustion?

“I don’t pity you. It was an ‘ _oh_ ’ of surprise. That’s all. Come on, my treat.” Harry chuckled and began to walk away, assuming Draco would follow behind when he was ready. 

_3 months later…_

“Hermione, I’m worried…” Harry revealed at last, after a week straight of her weedling. 

“I figured as much. What I want to know is why.” She mused while pouring him a cup of tea.

“He’s not getting any better. If anything... He’s getting worse.” Harry sighed, rubbing a hand through his quite messy hair. 

“Well, the Hogwarts project is almost complete right? Maybe you both need a little holiday, or something?” 

Harry sighed, but Hermione was most likely right. It wasn’t like Draco was willingly talking about his issues, at least not the ones that he could see. They’d talked about a million and a half things, from basics regarding favourite foods, to harder topics such as their respective childhoods. 

But not once would Draco talk about his ageing body. There were a few times Harry wondered if Draco had been cursed at some point, and if he was refusing to get checked out because he felt it was a justified punishment for his lot in life. Whatever the reason, Harry was terrified that whatever was happening revolved around dark magic, and he’d lose Draco just as they’d finally gotten together. 

“Maybe…” Harry felt his chest clench, as he recalled their first kiss. 

It was weeks after that first cup of tea. They had sat beneath a tree watching a rainstorm as it came across the Malfoy grounds. It was terrifying and shaky and a little bit terrible. But it was the first time either of them had kissed a man, so that came with a learning curve. Harry would never forget the feel of Draco’s stubble scratching against his own. Or the feel of petal soft lips pressing firmly into his—as if even kissing had become a competition between the two of them. 

“Hermione…” Harry made a noise, while clutching his chest. He wasn’t okay, but he knew he had to be strong for Draco. At least here, with only Hermione to see him fall apart, he could let go for a moment, and be terrified that there was a high chance he would lose yet another person he was starting to love. 

-

The following day, Harry was back at the castle. Hermione had done her best to comfort him, but even she couldn’t alay all his fears for long. The moment Draco showed up, as they roamed the front courtyard, Harry felt his concern ramping up further. 

“Draco…”

“Don’t start. We just had this argument two days ago.” The blond replied bitterly. “I don’t like fighting with you. We’ve done it for seven years now, I think we’ve earned the break.”

Harry hesitated, but offered a nod. 

“I know you’re worried, Harry. But you can’t be saviour to everyone.”

“I know I can’t.” Harry grumbled, but felt a hand on his. Draco brought their hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle gently. 

“Harry, you always try to do everything right. And that’s not fair for those of us with a penchant for fucking up.” Draco chuckled. “I just want to get through the rest of this rebuild, and then maybe we can go away somewhere? Just the two of us?”

Focussing on the prospect of some alone time together, Harry’s mood brightened considerably. 

*******

The first sign of trouble showed up around two hours later. Harry had worked up a sweat respelling some of the wards with McGonnagal’s help, while Draco was inside spelling various portraits back in their places. He’d worked a bit on restoring those which had sustained spell damage, and for the most part, everything seemed to be going well. 

“Harry! You have to come quick.” Hermione shouted at Harry, while running full tilt towards him. At Harry’s confused expression, she flailed her arms about in distress while yelling further. “Harry, it’s Draco!” 

Needing no further incentive than that, Harry took off with Hermione lagging behind him—out of breath from her initial marathon finding him—she directed him to the Great Hall, where it seemed a small crowd had already gathered. Footsteps faltering, Harry slowed enough to reach the back of the crowd. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear of what he would find ramping up his anxiety. Sweat trickled down his spine, breath coming in short bursts, as the crowd cleared and he stepped forward. 

Draco lay on the ground, as handsome as the very first day Harry had met him, looking for all the world as if he were asleep. But there was something too still about him. Harry had felt fear in his youth, but even with the insurmountable loss he’d been dealt in the past, the bodies he’d discovered, nothing could have prepared him for losing someone he’d just given his heart to. Losing Sirius was the closest he’d ever felt to the pain building within him now, but even then, there hadn’t been a body for him to mourn. In the back of his head, he could simply pretend that Sirius was off on another adventure, somewhere unreachable. Beyond that, Sirius’ death had come at a time when Harry’s life was a continual uphill battle of threats against his own life, and attempting passable marks in school. 

But Draco? It was different this time. There was no war pressing down on them, nothing to focus on but recovery from loss. Friends and found family had pushed him to get out there, explore his options, allow himself an opportunity to find something genuine and all-encompassing. As Harry sank to his knees next to the frail body of his boyfriend, he knew this would be the last time he’d let himself love this deeply, or allowed anyone to get too close. 

“D-Draco?” He asked hesitantly, voice wavering with emotion. If he kept talking, maybe it wouldn’t be true. “Babe? You’re alright, it’s okay. You’re just sleeping, right? You’ve been working so hard lately… I kept telling you to take a break but you won't.” Harry could hear murmuring behind him, no doubt already throwing their pity his way. But just as Draco hadn’t wanted his, he sure as fuck didn’t want theirs. 

A hand touched his shoulder, startling him into looking up. Through the hazy cloud unshed tears, he could see Hermione—her expression said it all. _He’s gone, Harry…_

“No… No, Hermione. You don’t understand. He’s only sleeping. He’s only-” Harry repeated, the same three words over and over. “We were supposed to go on Holiday, get some rest after all this. He always pushes himself too hard.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly, obviously making note of the way Harry continued to use present tense.

“Harry, we need to let the medi-witches through.” He heard someone say, but couldn’t place the voice. There were people helping him up but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Draco’s lifeless form. Had the curse finally run its course? Would whoever cast it feel sick satisfaction in knowing they’d killed Harry’s chance at happiness? 

“What do you need, Harry? How can I help you?” Hermione held him close, but continued to walk him away from the cluster. 

“I can’t-” Even though his chest felt frozen, waves of panic and anguish were clawing their way to the surface. “Get me out of here. I can’t-” The words were stuttered as Harry, Gryffindor’s Golden boy and the Saviour of the Wizarding world, began hyperventilating. 

*******

A few hours later, Harry had collected himself enough to head over to St Mungo’s. Hermione had stayed with him the entire time, while Ron had taken it upon himself to coordinate behind the scenes. 

“You don’t have to do this right away, Harry. You know that right?” Hermione offered hesitantly as they stood—post apparition—in front of the doors to St Mungo’s. 

“I do need to do this though, Hermione. I need answers, otherwise I’ll never be able to move forward.” 

Not that he thought he’d ever truly get over the loss of the love of his life. He wished then and there, that he’d taken a moment to say the three words that had weighed on him from the moment they first kissed. 

As they walked in, and were escorted to the morgue, Harry looked down at pale skin and pointed features. _Resting…_ His hand came up behind Draco’s head, threading through the strands of blond. 

“I love you, Draco…” It was so easy. Why was it so easy to say now, of all things? Why couldn’t he have said it before, when he ought to have? When Draco was alive to hear the words falling from his lips?

“Oh Harry…” Hermione sobbed, hand moving to her mouth to hold in the shaky sound. 

Harry closed his eyes, and leaned forward, pressing a slow soft kiss on the top of his ice cold head. Moving back, Harry schooled his features as best he could, ignoring the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks. 

“Ah, Mr Potter.” The kindly old Medi-Witch entered the room with them, offering a sympathetic smile at their situation. “I think perhaps, you ought to sit down.”

Harry frowned, wondering if he’d been right afterall.

“Was it a curse?” He inquired after taking a seat, Hermione sitting carefully at his side. 

“Mm. Yes and no.” The Medi-Witch placed her clipboard in her lap and took a breath. “There’s no simple explanation, and to be honest, I hadn’t seen something like this since my younger days as a trainee.” 

Harry’s leg began to jitter uncontrollably. 

“You see, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy died from sustained magical energy drainage.”

Hermione gasped, but Harry felt like he’d missed something. 

“From working too hard on the castle repairs, do you think?” Hermione voiced Harry’s question. 

“Actually, it’s due to both himself and Mr Potter. If I understand correctly, Mr Potter, you hold Mr Malfoy’s former wand?” 

Harry blinked, a turbulent sick feeling creeping up in his stomach. 

“He’s had it for almost a year at this point. His own wand broke while we were on the run. And we came upon Draco’s when we were captured. Harry tried to give it back at some poin-”

“No, actually… I never offered.” Harry swallowed thickly. “He’d bought a new one by the time I realised, and it just never came up after that.” Guilt was beginning to weigh down on him, to the point that he could hardly look the Medi-Witch in the eye. 

“I understand. War is a complicated beast on its own. It wasn’t fair for you poor children to be forced to grow up before you could truly understand what was being asked of you.” She reached out to pat Harry’s hand gently. 

“So are you saying… _I_ killed Draco? By not giving his wand back?” Harry tried to connect the dots in his mind, but was struggling to get past this particular hurdle. 

“If I may be blunt? It was the price of double the spellwork, and thus double the typical energy expended on the task.” 

Hermione gasped and Harry had to swallow past a gag. It couldn’t be true… No, he couldn’t handle this. All the spells he’d done, taking on more and more of the workload, just so he didn’t have to find himself home alone, or lost in thought about the horrors he’d seen. And all that time, Draco was paying the price. 

***

In the days following his visit to St Mungo’s, Harry had locked himself away in Grimmauld place. The blinds were drawn across every window with the exception of the little library. As if the weather was emulating his feelings, the skies poured down in sadness for days on end. Harry sat in his plush armchair—having turned it to face the window—wrapped in a blanket, and stayed unless his body physically required him to move. 

“Harry-dear? Are you there?” A voice called from the fireplace. “It’s Molly, love. Can I come through please?” 

Harry considered ignoring the call for a brief moment, but knowing Molly, she’d come right through all the same and give him a right talking to—no different than she would have given her own children. He truly loved her for that. Despite having many of her own children, she always made Harry feel as if he were just as much a part of her hoard as Ron. 

“Yes, I’m here Molly. Please, come on in.” He murmured, hardly finding the energy to get his words out. 

The fireplace let out a crackling, whooshing sound that signaled Molly Weasley’s arrival into Grimmauld Place. 

“Ah! There we are. Much better. Oh-Heavens Dear, when was the last time you had a wash?” Molly blinked. 

“Uh…” Harry tried to think back but shook his head, defeated. “It hasn’t seemed all that important.” 

At Molly’s insistence, Harry lumbered upstairs for a shower, but was back down and curled in his seat within 20 minutes. Even in the short time, she already had tea and a sandwich prepared for him. It felt rude to waste something she’d taken the time to make, so he nibbled on it slowly. 

“Harry, I’m worried about you…” said Molly.

“I’m fine.” Harry replied mundanely. 

“You know I don’t believe you, right?” But she didn’t push it. At least, not in the way most people did around Harry. Instead, Molly turned her gaze towards the window. 

“When I lost Fred, it was the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt. Not even a Cruciatus could have hurt me more in that moment. But I couldn’t allow myself to wallow too deeply within my grief, because my family needed me. George needed me.”

Harry blinked as he listened. He couldn’t ever recall Molly talking about her loss before. 

“I understand how you feel Harry, and I know how it feels to need the sweet relief of dissociating. But doing so comes at the cost of pushing everyone away, especially when they need it most.”

“I don’t think I can face everyone right now.”

“I know, love. And I’m not asking you to face them right this second. But I do want you to remember that you have friends who are terribly worried about you, who want to know you’re alright. And the longer you push people away, the harder it’s going to be for you to move forward. Letting people in doesn’t mean you stop being sad. But it does mean you don’t have to be sad alone.”

Harry frowned but knew she was right. He’d let himself wallow for another day or so, then he’d invite Hermione and Ron over for some tea. They’d been with him from the start, and were incredibly supportive of his decisions thus far, it wasn’t fair to keep pushing them away.

When Molly headed home, Harry moved upstairs. For the first time since Draco died, Harry allowed himself to look at the bed they’d slept in together. They hadn’t officially moved in together, but bits of Draco’s things had accumulated in Harry’s room. The room was almost black from the darkened blinds covering the windows, but with a wave of his hand, Harry parted the curtains. Afternoon light streamed through in soft yellows and pinks, shining on things that hurt Harry’s heart to see. 

It was the jumper in soft beige, laying across the bed—as if Draco had considered wearing it but at the last minute took it off in favour of something lighter. The visual representation of something so viscerally Draco was what sent Harry down a spiral of agony. Magic pricked up his spine, raising the hairs on his arms, and generating a light breeze where none should exist. But rather than question the source, Harry fed into his anguish, allowing it to practically overtake him, as he burrowed his face into the fabric. _Draco…_

In an eerie moment of inexplicable magic, Harry noticed the shadows hidden away in corners started to grow, covering every ounce of light in the room—undeterred by the sunshine pouring through the now open window.

“Harry Potter…” a voice called from within the depths of the darkness. 

Harry scrambled on the bed, trying to pat himself down and find his wand. 

“Who’s there?” he said in a panic.

The form moved within the shadows, and yet seemed inexplicably tied to them. 

“You should know me by now. Against all odds, you have collected all my gifts and have become my Master.”

_Death…_

Harry shuddered. He’d always imagined meeting death would be like truly meeting an old friend, but instead he was reminded of skeletal dementors and their ability to drain the happiness right out of him.

“I appear to you in my most natural form. Though, should I so choose, I could be anyone.” The skeletal figure changed shape in the darkness until he saw a pale imitation of Sirius. 

“Harry…” Sirius’ voice called out to him, and for a second, Harry considered running right into his arms. 

“Don’t… Not him.” Harry sobbed mournfully.

Sirius moved closer, but even as he stepped, his features began to fade back into the Black Reaper. 

“Why are you here? What do you want?” 

“I do not wish to be shackled, and have come to offer you a bargain.” 

The room appeared to grow smaller with the depths of shadows seemingly closing in on him. Harry struggled to breathe properly, and wondered if Death was attempting to intimidate him. 

“And what is that going to cost me? What could you possibly have that I would want?” Harry spoke bravely in the face of death. In retrospect, he started to wonder if perhaps it had been Death he’d spoken to in King’s Cross afterall, rather than the real Dumbledore, after dying by Voldemort’s hand. 

“Rather astute. It was, however, the real Albus Dumbledore.” Death spoke in hushed tones. “I assume you do not fully understand what it means to be Master of Death, and it is a burden that one as young as yourself should never have to understand. You came upon my gifts in purely circumstantial ways, but in the history since my parting with the Peverell Brothers, no one else has ever held all three at one time.” “Uh…” 

“Let me make this as simple as I can for you. Release me from your bidding and I shall bring back someone of your choosing.”

“What!?” Harry exclaimed, practically shooting up from the bed. It was all too convenient, but it was there all the same. 

“Wouldn’t you like to give a grieving mother a second chance?” Death murmured, waving a skeletal hand in the darkness. From the shadows, a second form emerged: Fred Weasley. 

“Fred? Is that…really you?” Harry whispered. 

“I think so? I was somewhere else but…” 

Death silenced him with another wave of his hand, and a second shadow emerged from the depths of his room. _Lupin..._

“You see, Harry Potter, I know you have lost a great many people over the years. Too many for such a short time on Earth.” 

At his words, more and more figures emerged from the shadows. _Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lavender Brown, Cedric Diggory…_

“You have no reason to require my servitude, and as a thanks, I will give you a chance at something you desperately desire. Someone you miss terribly perhaps?” 

From the shadows, the real Sirius emerged. Or at least, more real than earlier when Death had donned the man’s visage like a change of clothes. Harry found it hard to breathe, like he was drowning beneath the weight of the crowded room. But Death continued speaking, paying no mind to Harry’s current mental state. 

“What about family?” Death continued on, bringing forward two people Harry had expected to see from the start. 

“Mum? Dad?” Harry tried to speak, but the words came out in a shaky, raspy breath. 

“You can only bring back one, Harry Potter.” Death tutted. 

“Harry, mate, listen.” Fred stepped forward, his ghostly pallor so at odds with Harry’s last memories of him. “I understand how important a choice like this is, so let me give you some advice. Don’t pick us.” The crowd behind him nodded. 

“What? Don’t you want to come back?” Harry inquired, feeling overwhelmed beyond belief. Everything was starting to feel fuzzy, from lack of air and information overload. Was any of this even real? The edges of his vision were starting to fade. 

“Nah. We’ve made our peace already.” 

“So have our families.” Cedric chimed in. 

“There’s really only one right choice, Harry.” Sirius murmured from among the crowd.

“It’s your turn to be loved, my sweet darling.” Harry’s mother spoke softly, moving to the side of his bed, running her fingers along his forehead. It was strange, he could almost feel it . But then again, if this was just a dream, it was incredibly cruel that his mind wouldn’t allow him to feel her touch. James took a seat at Harry’s other side, while Remus and Sirius occupied the foot of the bed. 

“It’ll be alright, son.” James smiled kindly. “Don’t worry about any of us. It’s time for you to find happiness.”

Death moved in behind Remus and Sirius, but Harry could barely keep his eyes open any longer. 

“Very well. I accept your choice.” The rattling sound of the omnipotent being speaking was the last thing Harry remembered before he succumbed to sleep.

***

When the morning returned, Harry rolled over onto his stomach, feeling drained and fuzzy from the day before. Molly was right of course; the more he allowed himself to succumb to the maudlin emotions threatening to overwhelm everything, the more he started to confuse dreams with real life. 

It was time to wake up, and make a list of things that would help him move forward out of the fog. Shower, dress, make a pot of tea, maybe call Hermione and Ron and-

“Hnng.” 

Harry’s eyes snapped open at the sound. At first, he was terrified to move, but when the mattress shifted beneath the sheets he practically rolled himself around in a panic. 

“What the-” Harry practically shouted, startled by the sight of blond hair fanned out across a feather pillow. 

“Ngh, hush. Just five more minutes...Mmnn.” The sleepy sound of Draco’s voice was both terrifying and incredibly soothing for his soul.

“Am I imagining this? Is this still a dream?” Harry murmured to himself, attempting to pinch himself in multiple places. “OUCH!” 

“Merlin above Potter! Can’t you just let me sleep in for on-...” Draco sat up, expression reflecting the same inner panic written across Harry’s. “I thought… This isn’t possible.”

“You’re telling me.” Harry’s brows had risen so high on his head, they were practically hidden within his hairline. 

“Okay but I, I don’t understand it. How is this possible? I died. I know I did, I remember feeling …” Draco trailed off and shuddered, wrapping his arms around his bare chest. 

“I don’t know-...Wait.” Harry frowned, looking around. Grabbing his glasses from the night stand and slipping out from beneath the sheets, Harry eyed the corner from Death had appeared. There was nothing there any longer, not that he’d expected anything to begin with but, his dream… it had felt incredibly real, and with Draco alive and well in his bed… 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked while prodding at his own body.

“I just want to check something…” Harry moved in closer to the corner, spotting an edge of parchment. Snagging it, he opened the note with shaking hands.

_Consider our contract fulfilled. Your totems are stripped of their symbolic power. On my end, you’ll find Draco Malfoy has been returned to you in perfect condition. I will see you again, Harry Potter. When it is time._

_D_

The parchment fell to the ground, as Harry raced back to the bed. His body practically bounced on the plush surface, but he didn’t care. Arms wildly wrapped around Draco, gathering him close, as a sob broke through.

“Ha-Harry! What on Earth!” Draco tried to get some clear kind of answer from him, but Harry was verbally unresponsive. His head shook back and forth as it burrowed into Draco’s neck, while broken sobs, mostly relief, escaped between Harry’s ragged breaths. It took a moment, during which Draco simply wrapped his own arms around Harry, and kissed the top of his head repeatedly. 

“I’m alright, Harry. It’s okay, I’m here now.” Draco kept murmuring against Harry’s head. 

After a while, Harry’s wrecked sobs finally subsided. Draco had laid them back down, but Harry continued to bury his face into Draco’s neck. 

“I went to the morgue… I kissed your head… You…” Harry shuddered. “I never got to tell you…” 

“Tell me what?” Draco inquired softly, hand still threading through dark raven locks. 

“That I love you.” Harry glanced up at Draco, expression earnest, before looking down. 

“Oh Harry…” Draco sat back up, trailing fingers softly along Harry’s jaw. With a tender expression on his face, he brought Harry’s eyes back to meet his. “I always knew.” 

He then pulled Harry into a kiss, melting everything else away. Harry knew they weren’t out of the frying pan yet, as Draco’s reappearance from the dead would require explanations Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to share, but that was a problem for tomorrow. For today, he allowed himself to indulge in his second chance at a love he’d almost lost. 

End


End file.
